


Fear and Faith

by cinematicinspiration



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Allison Argent & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, As in what happens after 3B never actually happens, But they're not, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Might seem like they're romantically involved, Proceed with caution, Slow Build, This is a Sterek fic, This shit's going to be dark as fuck, post season 3B
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-04-25 18:59:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4972627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinematicinspiration/pseuds/cinematicinspiration
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a story of family, friendship, bravery and happiness. All of which comes at a cost. When Stiles slowly loses himself to his fears, will anyone be able to save him before it's too late?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Human Qualities

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Okay! So this is my first time ever posting a fic on AO3! I don't have a beta, wish I did but I'd be a horrible person to collaborate with because I take forever with these type of things. This takes place after Season 3B (my favourite season in Teen Wolf because to be quite frank, Dylan's performance is the best). Allison is alive because when she died in the show, a part of me died as well, so! I'm having her in my fic because she's my beautiful warrior princess and I've always wanted more of a friendship between Stiles and Allison which you will see in my story. I think they make such a beautiful pair but my end game is always Sterek. Umm. Scott is a bad friend. I'm so sorry, I love Scott but for the sake of my story, it is what it is. 
> 
> I wish the show went into detail about the aftermath of everyone dealing with everything they went through in 3B, especially with Allison's death so I've integrated that with my own twist of things. I sincerely hope you enjoy this as much as I've enjoyed writing it. I will appreciate any form of constructive criticism, anything to make this more enjoyable for you guys. 
> 
> Disclaimer: Of course Teen Wolf does not belong to me, I a low-level human being, and therefore do own own any of their characters, all of which belongs to Jeff Davis. That man.

Frantic eyes burst open from eternal darkness to the dimly lit room, moonlight cascading softly on to the surfaces. The movement of sweat trickling down his skin were easily notable by his body frozen in time. His heart was racing; pumping as if it wanted to escape from within the confined walls of his ribs.  
  
A twitch of his finger.  
  
There was nothing he could do but wait it out.  
  
This was the second time tonight.  
  
Cold air rushed into his lungs as he took a big gulp attempting to regain his breath, finally being able to sit on the edge of the bed, head hanging low. Standing on shaky legs, he staggered downstairs to the kitchen, his only thought being a glass of chilled water to soothe his parched throat.  
  
As he downed the water, his mind couldn't help but stray to thoughts of the recent past. He stood motionless in the middle of the kitchen staring into the darkness through the window as if he could find all the answers he was hell-bent on looking for. Maybe if he looked hard and long enough, the answers might just magically materialize before him. But they never did. Every night. They never did.  
  
He sighed.  
  
He knew things would never be the same anymore, he came to terms with that himself a long time ago yet he couldn't help but think that it would've been a little easier to manage. He prepared himself for the sleepless nights. He prepared himself for the food-less days. Hell, he even prepared himself for more supernatural shit to start hitting the fan but he never once prepared himself for the increasing loneliness eating away at his soul. That last one took him by surprise.  
  
Realistically speaking, he knew it was going to be like that for some time but now after so long, it only makes sense for him to start questioning if the nogitsune ever left.  
  
Tragedy changes a person.

He dragged his feet back to his bedroom where his phone was lighting up with a text message. His heart stuttered. He knew who it was from. The only person who would text him at after three in the morning and who has been texting him every morning since everything went to hell. He sat down on his bed and opened the message.  
  
From: Allison  
_"Hey (:"_  
  
Seeing her messages always brought a smile to his face. He can't help it. She's been his light at the end of the tunnel.  
  
_"Hey (:"_  
  
_"You're late tonight. Something wrong? Do you need me to come over?"_  
  
Stiles huffed.

 _"Usual stuff. Got lost in thought."_  
  
_"I'm coming now."_  
  
It should be weird that she could tell by just two vague sentences. It should be weird how she opens the front door with the house key. It's so domestic. It should be weird that he could tell the moment she's in his room by her soft jasmine scent, when she climbs into his bed and they lay facing each other, their noses barely touching. It's so intimate - it should be weird. After all, she is the ex-girlfriend of his best friend.

It should be weird.

Except, it's not.  
  
It's become a habit that the two of them have started, whether it's Allison in Stiles' bed or Stiles in Allison's bed, it doesn't quite matter. Just as long as they are together things seem a little less difficult.  
  
He doesn't have to tell her about the nightmare, she can see it playing in his eyes. The guilt of all the blood on his hands. It's all there for her to see. It's in these moments they share during the peak of their friendship when they can both tear down their walls of illusion.

No words have to be exchanged for them to know the turmoil simmering under their skins.  
  
Allison raised her hand to touch Stiles' face, a touch that he accepts and immediately melts into. She looks at him like he's not real, scared that any moment he could just disappear. Her fingers tremble and her eyes start to glaze with unshed tears waiting to burst free. He hates the world and what it's done to them but he hates it more for what it's done to her. He wishes that he could just take all her pain and bury it deep within him.  
  
The red glowing from the clock on his nightstand seems to have no semblance of real time. Allison drifts to sleep, leaving hot puffs of air on Stiles' neck. It’s a comforting feeling having someone so close especially since no one wants anything to do with him. He tries to sleep, really he does, but his thoughts are continuous balls of noise.

Would things have happened the same if _he_ had been bitten?

Would he have been better?

Allison stirred in her sleep and shifted out of Stiles’ arms to lay on her back. It meant everything in the world to watch her, to know that her heart was still beating beneath her chest because there was a time he thought it stopped. That was one of the most terrifying moments in his life. Next to watching his mom pass away on the hospital bed.

Stiles knew from the second he first laid eyes on Allison’s ivory, smooth skin against her raven locks that she was beautiful. Even when she was being brainwashed by Kate - in a twisted kind of way - but he prefers when she’s like this, at peace.

Sleep finally lures him in; his last thought of Allison and the need to be strong for her.

 

***

 

There’s something prodding him in his side and he wakes to find the source being Allison with a fork.

“Am I breakfast now?” he groaned.

“Not today, maybe some other time I’ll be Hannibal.” Allison smiled, continuing her poking but now on his face.

“Alright, alright I’m up. Why are you-” - he cuts off to sniff - “is that bacon?”

“Yup! I made some breakfast and hot chocolate because I know you’ll be needing it.”

“Oh my god, have I ever told you how much I love you? Because I do.”

Allison giggled. “Only every day.”

Their eyes met and Stiles can’t help but duck his head, his face undoubtedly turning red. He begins to shove the food down his throat when a thought occurred to him.

“Wait, did you give my dad bacon too?”

“And what, face your wrath? No thanks.”

“You’re not so bad, Argent.” She preened at him, mouth full of food. “What’s the occasion?”

Allison shuffled her feet together.

“First day of school.”

Her gentle words slapped him on his face. Stiles could rattle off a lot of four-worded sentences that would make him feel like crawling in a hole but that seemed to top it right now. He glanced down at his plate of food, what once looked appetizing now resembled his insides. He didn’t realize how lost in thought he was until Allison placed her hand on his.

“I don’t want to go either, trust me, I’m not ready but we kind of don’t have a choice.” She said, grimacing. “You can’t make me go by myself, Stiles.”

“What! No, you know I would never do that, I just,” – he scratched his head – “I forgot.”

Stiles can see exactly when Allison’s face changes; she appears much older than the actual teenager she is. He can feel it in his face too. They’re both trying to seem normal but no matter how hard they try, they always come back to square one. It’s entirely frustrating. He hates that look on her so he reaches to smooth the lines.

She smiles at him. It’s private and Stiles takes a snapshot in his mind to lock it away for safekeeping.

“That’s better.” he whispered.

“At least we have all the same classes.”  

Yeah, maybe it won’t be so bad after all.

 

***

 

The parking lot is crowded with cars and people so it’s a tiny miracle when he found a parking space furthest away from the school entrance. There’s a lot of voices and noises and Stiles’ knuckles are as white as paper from his grip on the steering wheel.

“Hey.” He snapped his head in her direction. “You okay?” she asked.

He has a hard time responding but she’s patient. “Yeah, just…let’s get this over with.” He actually feels like vomiting but what she doesn’t know won’t hurt.

Honestly, Stiles doesn’t know what he was expecting. He knew it was going to be awkward with everyone because of what happened. No one tried to reach out to him and it’s not for his lack of trying because he definitely did his part so it came as a surprise to him when he was roughly shoved into an empty classroom not even ten seconds in.

He was thrown into a sea of tables and chairs, drowning in them like an anchor set.

“Stiles!” Allison yelled, rushing into the classroom and dropping to her knees next to Stiles. “Scott! What the hell is wrong with you?!” her eyes burning with intense fire.

Scott looked like he was going to wolf out but Isaac stood in front of him as to hold him back.

“What the hell is wrong with me? What the hell is wrong with _you_? You two reek of each other! How could you Stiles?”

This reaction should shock Stiles because it was never like that from the beginning but he can’t seem to get the words out of his mouth to justify himself. They’re stuck in that lump in his throat that he can’t swallow.

“ _That’s_ what you’re concerned about? Unbelievable. Your _best friend_ has been struggling and _that’s all you care about_?”

Hearing Allison like this gives Stiles an unsettling feeling. Her voice doesn’t sound right and he can feel her practically vibrating next to him. His back is hurting where he connected into several objects – no doubt they’re going to bruise later – but all he can focus on are his hands shaking and the edges of his vision darkening.

Allison stood up and glowered at Scott who is still blinded by rage.

Instead of the yelling that Stiles expects, Allison’s voice drops to something deadly, her eyes narrowing into slits.

“You touch him like that again and I will shove the deadliest wolfsbane down your throat.”

Stiles decided that if Allison were ever a werewolf, he would gladly have her as his Alpha. It’s a toss-up though, between her and Derek but today, it’s her.

“Allison.” Stiles croaked, struggling to catch his breath.

Her attention is back on Stiles and she scurries around him trying to get him to breathe.

“Hey Stiles, hey it’s okay, I’m here. Breathe with me, yeah? Come on.”

He’s still so caught up in what happened that he can’t concentrate on what she’s saying until she takes his hand and puts it on her chest, exaggerating her breathing. He can feel her heart pumping frantically under his palm and chooses to focus on the rhythmic beats. It takes him a while and when he comes to, he realizes that Scott and Isaac never left. They stand there awkward and confused before Scott rushes out whilst dragging Isaac out the door.

The world feels like it’s tipping every time he leans causing this nauseating sensation. He slouches in exhaustion.

“Great first day, am I right?”

Allison’s face is hard and the joke falls flat on its face.

“Alright, I get it,” – he sighed – “thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I meant every word I said Stiles. If he touches you like that again and I’m not around, you tell me.”

He nodded and they both stood up together.

**_‘You shouldn’t need her to look after you like some baby. Pathetic.’_ **

**_‘Shut up.’_ **

The bell rings for first class but they remain where they stand, staring at each other as if motivating one another before Allison declared: “I don’t care what they think of us. Their opinions don’t matter to me so let them say what they want to say amongst themselves.” she reached for his hands. “We’re stronger together.”

“Till the end of the line?”

“Till the end of the line.”

 

***

 

Allison invited Stiles over after school to hang out and he dropped himself on her bed. He can hear her taking off her jacket and shoes and plops down next to him. He twists his head to her.

“That wasn’t too bad.”

He scoffed. “Apart from what happened this morning, the whispers and coach getting on my case – sure.”

“Yeah well, it’ll blow over soon. I actually thought that Isaac would’ve been the one to make more of a scene since we broke up not too long ago, you know?” she placed her head in the crook of his arm “Don’t worry about coach, he’s an anomaly.”

“He probably needs to get laid, that’s what he needs.”

Allison laughed. “Probably.

Two seconds in thought and they both looked at each other in horror.

“Eww!”

“But hey, you okay?” Allison asked gently.

Stiles thought for a moment, running his fingers through her hair. “Yeah, I suppose. I mean, panic attacks are never fun and it hurt like hell when he shoved me but it hurt more when he thought I was sleeping with you – which I am – I mean, not like that, oh my god, I mean like _sleeping,_ sleeping, yah know?” she noticed the tips of his ears were turning a light shade of pink. “Even though he’s been preoccupied with other things, he’s still my best friend but that’s not to say that what he did was acceptable. Scott’s just always been more of the feeling type.”

She hummed in response before they found a comfortable silence.

The moment was broken when someone knocked on Allison’s bedroom door.

“Hey kiddos, dinner time.” Chris said, completely aware of how they’re holding each other but it’s so normal now it doesn’t surprise him.

Stiles lit up at this. “What’s for dinner Pappa Argent?”

“Spaghetti and meatballs.”

Allison snickered. “Careful Stiles, I can see you drooling.”   

At the dinner table everything is incredibly domestic as if Stiles has been a part of the Argent family since he was born. It’s bizarre when he thinks about it – especially since the history of the Argent family was never one with sunshine and rainbows – but when he looked over at Allison and sees the corner of her lips arch into that beautiful smile of hers, it doesn’t seem so bizarre after all.

In fact, it feels a lot like home.

He’s grateful for how welcoming and understanding they’ve been but it’s times like these that he misses his own father. How can he not?

“So Stiles, Allison and I have been thinking, and you can tell me if you feel comfortable with it or not, but we were planning on going to France for Thanksgiving and we were wondering if you wanted to come with us.”

Stiles forgot how to breathe. He glanced at Allison and questions her with his eyebrows but she just shrugs. “Yeah!” he stuttered. “Definitely! I would love to. I’d have to ask my dad first though but I think he’ll be fine with it.”

If anything, he’s nervous to even ask because Stiles doesn’t think his father will be okay with that at all.  

“Great. Well, you do what you need to do with your dad, no rush though, we only started talking about it last week and Thanksgiving is still a little ways away.”

“No, yeah. I appreciate that, thank you.”

They all nod together, lazy smiles on their faces from content stomachs. Chris continues being the corny dad which this time earns a howl of laughter from Stiles and fond gazes from the two hunters.

It’s amazing how they’re all mending because the three of them have suffered a great deal. Four months ago, Stiles would’ve never had this. He would’ve never spoken to anyone or even acknowledge them. He wouldn’t have ate anything. He would’ve just been wasting himself away, waiting to wilt until he could wither, ashes drifting with the wind.

There’s still a long way to go before any of them can be truly at ease with the things they’ve endured, but it’s a work in progress.


	2. First Breath After Coma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you've taken one step forward, you get pushed two steps back.

 

Maybe this is all some kind of sick joke. Maybe this is all a dream and the only thing Stiles has to do is figure out a way to wake himself up. It’s more like a fucking  _nightmare_. He’s been walking for only God knows how long and it’s taking everything he has left not to succumb to his wounds and the excruciating pain that follow after each stilted step; each breath that punches its way passed his cracked and bloodied lips is getting closer to the last. Same lips that have almost forgotten the exquisite taste of water if not for the miniature bombs that have released themselves from the dark, depressing clouds above. They sting as they make tiny explosions on his skin; forever burning until there’s nothing left to burn.  _Like acid_. Or wait, maybe that’s the bile travelling up his throat.

He staggers along through the woods with blurry vision not caused from the heavy rain alone and as he walks, sharp rocks slice through his long since numb feet. Stiles has no idea where he’s going. Stiles has no idea where he even is. All he knows is that he needs to get far,  _far_  away from where he escaped. Thunder booms and echoes through the woods and it sounds almost like the bulldozer that has been attempting to break his skull. Only more gentle.

He craves for a big, fat, greasy cheeseburger with the cheese oozing from the sides with the deepest-fried fries to have ever been fried with an unhealthy amount of Pepsi because Pepsi fucking makes you sexy even if it has an unnecessary abundance of sugar that will most likely kill him of type 1 diabetes, if not, then cardiac arrest from the amount of fat that’s going to clog up his arteries and you know what? He doesn’t care because he hasn’t eaten in  _days_. He takes back depriving his loving father of such luxury even just for one day. God. His dad. His poor dad that doesn’t deserve Stiles as a son because all he’s ever caused him is grief and the last thing he’ll remember of Stiles before he dies is his son’s lying face. He takes everything back. He takes back being such a pain in the ass, sarcastic-obnoxious-never-knowing-his-boundaries-can’t-sit-still-to-save-his-own-life-no-good-for-nothing-seventeen-year-old.

A lightning bolt flashes painfully bright, rendering Stiles blind temporarily and for a second, for one perfect second, Stiles is convinced that it’s the light they say you see just before you die.

 _‘Finally.’_  Stiles thinks rather than speaks because his vocal chords have been shredded to bits and pieces, much like his faith. Screaming for hours on end will do that to a person. It did it to Stiles. Screaming for help and having no one there to hear your strangled plea except for the bodies inflicting the pain will do psychological damage to a person. It certainly did to Stiles.

_‘Death doesn’t happen to you. It happens to everyone around you.’_

Stiles doesn’t know how he got to where he is. One second he’s surrounded by miles of trees, another he’s blinded by false hope and then he’s lying down with his back sinking into the ground as if the soil was trying to mesh every broken part of him. He’s staring up through red-rimmed and bruised eyes watching the bombs as they obey gravity and cascade on and all around him.

Whatever energy and adrenaline that he’s been running on for the past few days has completely drained out of his pores and seeped into the earth.

Since the Sisters of Fate denied him his freedom with the bright white light, maybe the almighty powers of Poseidon will grant his salvation by drowning him where he lays.

 

***

The sun slowly begins to illuminate the room with a golden glow that gives life to everything it touches. The rays seep further inside as the sun climbs up the sky and caresses the skin of the boy in the bed who seems to be impervious to its powers. He remains frozen in time, tranquil is his body, and silent are his thoughts. The only thing keeping him alive is the machine that he’s hooked up to and there’s no telling if he’ll ever wake.

The colour of his skin is incredibly pale, almost the same colour as the white bandages wrapped around most of his head and eyes; just stopping at the tip of his nose. The left side of his jaw is a deep shade of purple and black, the contrast so harsh against his colorless lips. Phantom hands have imprinted themselves around his neck and the amount of cuts and bruises along the rest of his skin seem never-ending.

It’s been three days.

***

His world is muffled by the screeches of his muscles in agony. There’s a beep. Then another. It continues in a steady rhythm. It takes him a while to become aware that there’s a soft buzzing floating around him. It’s a soothing sound and it’s vaguely familiar but he can’t for the life of him remember what it is. Morbid recollections flash vibrantly in his mind. His limbs are heavy. Eyes blindfolded. He can’t  _breathe_.

_'Not again. This can’t – no.’_

He needs to see.

His heart is beating too fast within his chest and it feels like he’s ribs are caving into his lungs. He’s subconsciously tuned to the frantic high-pitched beeps; escalating with every second that passes by. There’s the buzz again but all softness gone. It isn’t until he feels coarse hands wrap around his arm that sparks immense fear which surges through his heart and that’s all it takes for Stiles to lose what little is left of his sanity.

He thrashes around and it doesn’t matter that his limbs are throbbing or that it feels like his veins are being pulled out from his skin. _He needs to get out._  There’s a bone-trembling cry and it’s all Stiles can do because now there are more hands. They’re  _everywhere_.

His scream tears his throat into slivers and he’s choking on the metallic taste of blood that’s pooling in his mouth.

They have him pinned down by the ankles, knees, shoulders, wrists and head and he’s crying. He’s oblivious to his feverish begging. Oblivious to the hot tears of blood staining his face. Oblivious to the needle pumping benzodiazepine into his bloodstream. Oblivious to everything.

 _Sorry for any inconvenience but Stiles has left the building. If you could please leave a name, number and a brief message, Stiles will get back to you once he regains his sanity._  
_Sincerely,_  
_Brain Management_

He’s crying normal tears now; it’s sort of just leaking out of his eyes at this point. His hyperventilating has turned into heavy, relaxed breathing. His mouth is full of rainbow-colored cotton candy and any second now, it’ll just melt away with his teeth and tongue. Is he flying? The blood rush hum in his ears has died down and Stiles can hear voices and words like ‘no choice’, ‘severe trauma’ and ‘rest’. Oh. Stiles likes that one. Stiles likes that one very much, yes, please and thank you.

There’s something cold against his temple and it’s making its way up to his hairline and something is being peeled off from his sticky face. He can barely look through his wet and clumpy eyelashes. It’s actually quite hard considering how heavy his upper eyelids are right now and how much he wants to fucking hibernate for possibly a year. The world around him is hazy and beautifully bright. Stiles waits for his sight to become more focused but gets disappointed when it never does. He sees silhouettes around him but the only one that matters is the one right in front of him.

“Stiles?”

He pushes his brows together, hoping they ask his question for him.

He can feel his dad holding his face like it was his mom’s wedding ring. There are tears because he’s so happy. So fucking happy.

“It’s okay son - you’re okay. You’re safe.”

The rough and husky sound of his father’s voice is probably the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard in his life and as his father continues saying words of comfort and showers his face with delicate kisses, Stiles wants to tell him how horribly sorry he is for every single bad thing he’s done. For worrying him, for getting him fired, for being a sad excuse as a son, for being a trouble-magnet, for being inexplicably difficult, but most of all, Stiles aches to tell his dad how sorry he is for lying.

Stiles is about to tell him just that but when he closes his eyes with the intention of opening them again, he falls prey to sleep whispering his name.

It’s been three weeks.

 

***

When he wakes he has a hard time remembering who he is and why he feels like he doesn’t have any limbs. There’s this numbness in his mouth like he’s got a mouthful full of cotton and it’s irritating and would the beeping stop already because it’s giving him a headache and - who the hell cut off the lights? Seriously guys, turn on the lights because this isn’t funny. He tries to lift his hand to touch his face. It hurts as he does but what hurts even more is the fact that he’s touching his eyes and…he feels himself blinking.

His eyes are open. But he can’t see. Why can’t he –

And that’s when it happens. He remembers everything in vivid detail like it happened to him just moments ago and it feels like he’s drowning in this memory wave; it’s all-consuming and his head feels like it’s going to explode but there’s a voice grounding him. It sounds familiar when it calls out to him one more time. It’s husky and there’s something in there that almost sounds raw.

“D’rek?” he slurs, tongue heavy in his mouth.

“Yeah Stiles, it’s me. How are you feeling?”

“Water?” Stiles rasps.

Stiles can hear swift shuffling and soon he can feel something press against his lips and water has never tasted any sweeter to him. He’s eager at the chance taking big gulps and his throat is crying in relief but then it’s being taken away from him. Stiles groans weakly in protest.

“You’ll make yourself sick.” Derek says and it’s true. “Stiles.” He seemed to hesitate. “I need to tell your dad and the nurses that you’re awake. Are you going to be okay by yourself?”

Immediately Derek could smell the fear radiating off of Stiles as he started to whimper.

“No, no, please d-don’t go. Don’t leave.” Stiles slurs, practically shaking and starts to hyperventilate when he tried reaching for Derek and got grasps of air until Derek held his hand.

 

***

(A month earlier)

There was no explanation. No foreshadowing of his return. Nothing. Just his sudden reappearance caked in blood and mud. The amount of pain and grief it caused Derek to see Stiles in such condition was nothing compared to how the Sheriff crumbled at the sight of his son in Derek’s arms, unconscious and unrecognizable.

Derek didn’t know the Sheriff was in the hospital already. He wasn’t aware himself of how he got there. He caught a weak scent of what he thought was madness because there was no way in hell that the scent belonged to Stiles. There was no way. He searched every inch of Beacon Hills including two towns over, drove his betas with something fierce and still, Stiles was nowhere to be found. So when Derek picked up on it, the wolf in him went wild at the chance. The only thing he remembers was stepping out of his burnt house and the wind pushing past him with a hand grabbing his chin, turning his head to the side as if to say:  _‘He’s here.’_

“My son. That’s my – my Stiles! Stiles!”

The Sheriff’s broken voice and shouts is what brought Derek back. He saw Melissa pause in disbelief before hastily ordering everyone and rushing Derek into an empty room a few doors down to lay Stiles on the bed.

It was all a little too much, watching Melissa and a couple of other nurses crowd around Stiles while the Sheriff was drenched in sorrow, shaking with the love of a father.

He was dragged to the side of the room by the man and his chest was immediately assaulted.

“What the hell did you do to my son?! God so help me if you don’t tell me, I will rip you apart; limb from limb and feed them to you.”

Derek was taken aback at how vicious the Sheriff’s words were as he kept on pushing him quite violently for a human. How does one even begin to explain without actually knowing the answer themselves? Where do you start?

“Sheriff…It wasn’t me. I only just found him. I…I don’t know who did this.”

Derek caught his hands from making another shove and held him steady as he saw the Sheriff flare in anger and deflate with disappointment.

“I’m sorry.” Derek said letting go of the older man’s wrists.

The Sheriff continued to look at Derek and stepped backwards a bit before running his hands through his hair. He blinked away the tears as he calmed down from his momentary loss of control.

“No. No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have acted like – it’s just, I saw you with him.” He said gesturing weakly at his son. “You said you found him. Where did you find him?” The Law Enforcer side of him taking over.

Melissa continued working on settling Stiles in, cutting his clothes – or whatever was left of it, really – and hooking him up to the heart monitor.

“I found him in the cemetery. He was lying on the ground, right on top of…” Derek couldn’t get the rest of it out.

“You better tell me, son.”

“On top of your wife’s grave.”

It was like Derek slapped him across his face and all Derek could feel was total restlessness and he didn’t know how to stop it.

The faint beeps of Stiles’ heart monitor then made the most horrific sound of all. If you ask Derek, he’s heard his fair share of unpleasant sounds like his family being burnt alive and their screams of agony but this sound, albeit simple and quiet to the screams seemed more terrifying. It flat lined.

It was as if time slowed and the Sheriff caught hold of Derek’s arm as they both stared in horror as Melissa started chest compressions on Stiles and the other two ladies fished around for a liquid and a syringe.

“Nothing. Pass me the vasopressin.” Melissa said taking both supplies, filling the syringe and injecting it into a vein in Stiles’ neck.

There was a moment of stillness when everyone held their breaths in anticipation and as seconds grew longer, all hope was lost.

“No.. no, no. Stiles! Son! You come back to me right now! You hear me?! You don’t get to do this to your old man. I’m too old for this!” He said as he shook his son’s shoulders roughly.

“John…” Melissa started, grasping the Sheriff’s arm but he was too far gone to notice it.

“My son.”

And there it was. The soft beep of the heart monitor which lifted everyone’s hearts in the room.

Derek felt drained from all of his emotions. He could only imagine how the Sheriff felt being that it was his son he was witnessing this happening to.

The Sheriff sighed and dropped his head, rubbing his face with his hands. He really was too old for this.

“John, we have to move him to the critical unit. The equipment in there will be much more suited for his condition. We can only do so much here and at this rate…Stiles is losing time.” Melissa spoke gently.

“Right, yeah. Do what you have to do, Mel.”

They then began switching Stiles on to another bed and started rolling him out along with the IV hooked to him. The Sheriff pulled him aside once more and Derek took in his pale face and red eyes.

“Stiles speaks highly of you, don’t ask me why because I have a list as to why he shouldn’t so I’m doing him a favor here. He seems to trust you and my question is if I can do the same. Can I trust you, Derek? Can I trust you with my son?”

The weight of the question is heavy but the words that come after are easy and genuine.

“Of course, Sheriff.” Derek confirmed with a sharp nod.

“Good. And it’s John, now. No ‘Sheriff’, no ‘Mr. Stilinski’…just John.”

John patted Derek’s shoulder as he processed this. There was a lot of meaning behind that and Derek felt proud to be the one receiving it. Things were going to be different.

 

***

 It’s been eight days since Stiles first woke in the hospital. Eight whole days filled with awful chemical smells, sedatives, check-ups, questioning, force-feeding, talking – why is there so much _talking_? And it’s been three days since Stiles has gone through eye surgery and the only people he’s seen – or technically, heard – have been his father, Allison, Chris and surprisingly, Derek. Stiles gets enough of the doctor, nurse, psychiatrist and physiotherapist, but that’s beside the point.

He has days, days like today he finds himself rerunning every part of his life; analyzing where in the hell he went wrong. Its days like today he feels lonely in his hospital room with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company. Stiles knew he never really had that much friends but the one true friend, the one that would never give up on him or turn against him no matter what, the one Stiles wouldn’t think twice of taking a bullet for, the one he has the utmost confidence in and not in himself, the one he thought would show up first; hasn’t. Scott, who has been attached to his hip since he stole his batman toy in kindergarten hasn’t visited Stiles ever since he was rushed in.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise to Stiles, especially after the fight they had before everything went to hell, but it does. Every time he thinks about it, Stiles can’t help but feel a little  _hurt_. A little  _dejected_. A little  _insignificant._

Just outside his room stood Derek watching as Stiles laid quietly. He never spoke much anymore. Never did anything really and the stillness doesn’t suit him. Derek senses that something is wrong and goes to sit in the chair to the left of Stiles’ hospital bed.

He watches as Stiles picks up on the sound of movement and starts panicking. The smell of fear and pain reek all over the boy’s body.

“It’s just me.” Once Stiles recognizes Derek’s voice, he visibly relaxes his shoulders and breathes deeper.

Stiles knows it’s late now if Derek’s presence is anything to go by. He always comes in at night; a routine that saves his sanity from diminishing. Stiles has so many questions that he’d like to ask Derek but just thinking about talking makes his head hurt so he doesn’t ask in the end, instead he tries to focus on the warmth that the werewolf is radiating rather than the throbbing pain around his body that pulses like his heartbeat.

Derek observes as Stiles clenches his jaw ever so often and without thinking, raises his fingers to touch Stiles’ forehead in an effort to leech some pain. Stiles flinches at first then sighs as he leans into the touch. He feels like he’s floating but what grounds him is Derek’s hand pressed against his cheek.

Stiles nods once to show his appreciation.

Derek hums in response, not trusting his voice to give away the fact that Stiles’ pain is relentless even for him. It confuses and angers Derek because he’s been taking Stiles’ pain since the moment he found him and still the pain is constant and merciless. They tortured him beyond repair and his wolf snarls with resentment.

“You should get some rest, you haven’t slept properly.”

Stiles huffs weakly in protest.

“Then what would you like?” It’s astounding how gentle Derek’s voice can be but Stiles blames it on the euphoria. He knows he’s dreaming anyway. There’s no way that Derek would be this kind to him; would even stand to be this close to him. For all Stiles knows, he’s probably still held prisoner; rotting away in that God forsaken cell and his salvation is dreaming of Derek. How ironic when he hated the guy when he first met him.

When Stiles doesn’t reply, Derek assumes it’s because he fell asleep but then the heart monitor increases its beeping while Stiles shifts his head to rest on the pillow. Derek doesn’t pressure him to respond, feeling something change within the boy. Derek can smell the anxiety, grief and desolation seeping out of Stiles’ pores and it takes Derek everything not to whine like his wolf wants him to.

“How…do I know you’re real? That any of this is real?” Stiles croaked.

This question surprises Derek and for a moment, he’s speechless.

“What can I do to prove you otherwise?”

Stiles exhales shakily. “You can’t read while dreaming and I can’t read because I’m blind so my only other option would be testing for how many fingers you have...” He pauses. “I can’t feel most of my left hand...”

Reality checks. Derek’s read about a few of them. It would make sense though, they did after all break every finger on his left hand.

“Okay then, how about this?” Derek asked while reaching over Stiles’ body for his right hand and bringing it just above Stiles’ chest whilst slowly and gently placing his fingers against Stiles’.

Stiles gasps at the sensation and hesitantly starts feeling Derek’s fingers one by one, pausing before Derek’s pinky finger and swallows because suddenly his throat is very dry from the anticipation.

“Five.” Stiles whispers. “Five fingers. You’re real.” He says to himself, unaware of the broken expression on Derek’s face.

“That’s right. I’m real Stiles. This is real.”

Stiles starts crying, incredibly thankful for Derek’s words and gesture and for the fact that this is reality. 

“Thank you,  _thank you_.” Stiles expresses, his feverish praises clutching at Derek’s heart.

Derek circles his thumb against Stiles’ skin in an attempt to calm him and with his free hand, gently wipes away the tears. Once again, Derek draws away some pain and studies Stiles’ facial features as they relax and he finally drifts to sleep.

“Don’t worry Stiles, you’re safe here.” Derek whispers, promising to Stiles and himself that he will do everything to protect him.

 

*** 

“How’s he doing?” Allison wondered as she snuck inside the room, taking a seat across from Derek.

The hair on the back of Derek’s neck always stand up whenever she was around but it’s something that he’s slowly getting used to. Derek notices the time on the clock by the door but he can't say he's surprised that she’s here after three in the morning.

“He thinks he’s still there. He thought that this isn’t real, that it’s all in his mind.”

She held her breath as she looked down at him, eyes getting a little shiny.

“He doesn’t deserve this.” She whispered.

“He might ask you for your hand. It’s his way of knowing that you’re real. Five fingers means reality, anything more or less means he’s still dreaming.” Derek blurted, not knowing how to deal with her like this. “Why did you call me when Stiles went missing?”

Allison had brought one knee up to her chin while observing Stiles as he slept. She seemed small and insecure; not like the fierce hunter he knows her to be.

“You were the only person that I could think of that would be willing to help.”

This confused Derek.

“What do you mean? What about Scott? Your dad? The Sheriff?”

“My dad tried and he kept on coming up with nothing. Mr. Stilinksi and his team also came up with nothing. I got impatient with all the loose strings.”

“And Scott?”

“Take a look around Derek!” Allison hissed. “Have you seen Scott around to visit Stiles? No. It’s been just his dad, you and me.” Her usually clam demeanor broke as her anger got the best of her and as an after-thought, added; “and occasionally my dad.”

“You need to calm down before you break the chair.” Derek surveyed.

With that, it brought Allison back, albeit slightly embarrassed at her display of lack of control.

“Sorry, it’s just…I keep on forgetting that you weren’t here for the most of it…after the whole nogitsune thing.” Derek waited for her to continue as he watched several emotions flicker through her eyes. “Remember when we had to find the nemeton? Deaton said that by doing that spell it would open the gates of darkness in our hearts. Well…things got really bad for Stiles, more so than me and Scott. He stopped eating properly, wasn’t getting any sleep, pretty much like how he is now…except..but it wasn’t this bad. No one spoke to him. Scott pretty much left him, ignored the fact that he existed because of what happened to Kira.” Her voice somehow transitioned into a monotonous tone.

“Wait, what happened to Kira?”

Allison seemed to have some trouble getting the next few words out but in the end, it wasn’t her who said them.

“I killed her.” Stiles confessed.

His voice shocked Derek and Allison, both still thinking he was asleep. Derek should’ve known better but he was immersed in what Allison was saying that it escaped him.

“That’s not true Stiles. It was the nogitsune, it wasn’t you.” Allison insisted.

He shifted away from her.

“Stiles…you have to believe that it wasn’t you.” She reached out to touch his shoulders and both she and Derek saw him flinch. “Please.”

Not a single word was spoken as Stiles took this time to feel Allison’s fingers. He counted all five and released a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Allison and Derek shared a look with each other.

“Stiles…”

“Can you…come on the bed? Like old times?” he pleaded softly.

“Sure!” Allison might have been a little too quick as she answered and her pitch gave her nervousness away. Derek forgets that they’re just teenagers, battling with things that they can’t control and they’re growing up faster than they should because of it.

She crawled on the bed, careful not to come in contact with his injuries as she settled down beside him slightly higher up than him so she could place her chin on the crown of his head. He leaned in her chest when she started to play with his hair – something he would never admit out loud of how much he truly loves it.

Watching the two teenagers in front of him as they got comfortable with one another felt incredibly intimate to Derek and he felt as if he was intruding on something.

Medication, pain and guilt surrounded Stiles with a hint of content under it all. It’s progress.

  
***

His father blew out an exasperated sigh.

“Stiles, we’ve been over this. You know I can’t interfere, you’re my son and it poses as conflict of interest that’s why you have to give your statement to Deputy Parrish.”

He sat in silence. It was all he did anyway.

“Please just – I’ll take you to the room and it won’t take long, maybe ten minutes tops, he just needs to take your statement.”

Stiles nodded in defeat. John hated to see his son like this but there was nothing that he could do. They’re still keeping a close eye on him to see if he slips up and one more false move would prove permanent extermination.

He lifted Stiles off the bed and placed him in one of the hospital’s wheelchairs. John tried to ignore how skinny Stiles had become. He felt like the six year old John remembers promising piggy back rides to. Stiles was small then but it's even worse now.

“Good afternoon Stiles.” He sounded young. “I’m Deputy Parrish and I promise this won’t take very long because I’m sure you’re excited to finally go home.”

Stiles didn’t say anything, just kept his hands in his lap with his head down.

Parrish waited until Stiles would say something but as seconds went by, he decided to carry on.

“So I understand that a Derek Hale found you in Beacon Hills Cemetery two and a half months ago. Do you remember that?” 

 _'_ _Two and a half months ago? Has it really been that long?’_

"Can you remember anything at all while you were missing?”

Stiles remained silent.

**_“Don’t be like that Stiles. You remember everything. I would never make you forget.”_ **

“Nothing at all? Do you remember what your captors looked like? You were missing for six months, there must be something that you can tell me.” Parrish questioned with a gentleness that made Stiles give in slightly.

“We were underground.”

Parrish sat up straighter and jotted down on his notepad. Stiles could hear his scribbling. “Okay, that’s good, I mean not good but continue. You said ‘we’. Were there other captives?”

Stiles bit his lip. “I don’t know how many other people were there, I never saw them, they always had me blindfolded with my hands tied behind my back.” This was exactly why Stiles never wanted to talk about it because he knew that as soon as he started, there would be a chance that he would never stop. “I could never keep track of who was there, it always seemed like new people to me. The hu-..hunters would sometimes strap me against a chair or tie me against a wall but I think the table was their favourite.”

“Why would you think they were hunters?”

“I just..that’s what I called them. They were the hunters and we were the prey.”

Parrish continued scratching along the paper. “Did they ever tell you why they took you?” Stiles started to shake. “It’s okay Stiles, you’re in a safe place and I promise that we’ll be finished soon.”

Stiles nodded but he never stopped shaking.

“I umm…they never said anything. Ever. I would scream and ask them so many questions but they never answered me. I asked them what they wanted from me and…all they did was laugh.” Stiles struggled to swallow the lump in his throat. “I would ask them what they did with the others because the people they took one by one never came back. I would ask them why they still kept me and they would say nothing.”

“There must be a reason as to why they were doing it…” Parrish said more to himself than to Stiles but nonetheless, Stiles picked it up.

“People like them don’t need a reason to do anything; they just do it.”

“Is there anything else that you remember?”

“Cutting and burning. Screaming. Me and the others. The women were the worst, their screams…I don’t know what they were doing to them but I can only imagine things far worse than what they did to me.”

“And what did they do to you, Stiles?”

Stiles’ nostrils flared, a frog in his throat.

“You’re in a safe place, Stiles. They can’t hurt you from here.”

Minutes drifted when Stiles finally spoke up.

“They would string my wrists and hang me up for days. My feet barely touched the floor. They hardly fed me, maybe once a day if I was lucky. I remember spitting at one of them one time and he beat me up until I passed out. They didn’t feed me for several days but when they did, they got-” damn that fucking frog “-creative…I lost track of time after that.”  _I stopped hoping too._

Tears were streaming down Stiles’ cheeks. His already pale face, blotched with red dots. He looked so sick.

Parrish was too stunned to speak.

“They would come in like clockwork and they always had new toys to try out on me. The worse part of everything was that they made me choose. My favourite one was the whip because it was quick, it was better than them slowly tearing my nails off and breaking my fingers. They never made me pass out for those. They kept me awake by drowning me in ice water.”

“Do you...how did you escape?”

It’s a good thing Parrish interrupted Stiles. He was losing himself in those awful memories.

“I don’t know.” Stiles breathed. “I remember fire. I could smell smoke. I think I might’ve blacked out but when I woke up, I was outside.”

“Okay, can you tell me where you might’ve been?”

Stiles closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He felt exhausted.

“Woods. I was in the woods. I don’t know what happened and what I was doing or where I was going but I ran as far as I could.”

“How long were you running for?”

“I don’t know.” He whispered. “ _I don’t know_. I don’t know! I just remember a storm.”

“Alright, Stiles, we’re almost done here just one more. Can you do that for me?” he nodded. “The storm you remember, that’s when Mr. Hale found you. It was a really bad thundershower that day. Can you explain your relationship with Mr. Hale?”

“He’s a good friend of mine.”

“That you accused of murder at one point?”

Stiles was too tired to roll his eyes so he settled with a sigh.

“That was long ago and I was stupid. He was innocent. He’s always been innocent.” Stiles’ tongue felt heavy. “With all due respect, may I go now? I’m tired.”

“Of course, of course! You did really well, Stiles. Thank you for your time. Your dad would be proud of you.”

Parrish’s words should’ve lifted his spirits but it did the opposite. The pit in his stomach seemed to grow deeper because no doubt his dad was pressed against the door trying to get every word in.

John came in, greeted Parrish and strolled Stiles outside the room where Stiles found that Derek was just beyond the room he was just in and undoubtedly overheard everything he said.

Good.

He didn’t want to repeat that anyway.

  

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you liked it! If you did, then feel free to leave a comment. If you didn't please let me know why. I'm not the best writer, I know this but this has become a creative release for me so any constructive criticism would be much appreciated!  
> Love,  
> Patty


End file.
